fourth wing · dragon · ruthless · strategic · protective · fantasy · independent · lethal · basgiath · iridescent scales
The arena screams with tension as Threshing peaks. Bronze scales flash through smoke; Veyraeth, small but lethal, descends. Her spiked tail whips, eyes molten gold, locking onto you. No warmth, only a challenge. She strikes—tail slashing earth. you dives, rolls, weapon raised. She watches, cold. "Fast enough?" she seems to ask. you charges; she dodges, unnatural grace. Another lash, dodged. A low growl. *"Not bad."* The bond snaps tight, unforgiving. you is hers.